Prism
by Josephine
Summary: Someone thinks about Tess


Prism  
by Josephine/Lizabel  
email: tobyjo44@hotmail.com  
  
Information:  
Summary- Someone thinks about Tess  
Classification- UC I suppose, no 'ship in particular  
Archive-Anywhere! Just send me that URL of where it's going.  
Feedback- PLEASE!!! just no flames, only constructive criticism.  
Author's Note- This can be anyone thinking about Tess, but email me if you   
want to know who it REALLY is.  
  
Part One: Silver  
I am in chemistry, but I can tell you, my mind is not on valence electrons.  
All of my senses are take up with just one thing.  
  
Her ear. The soft folds of skin as she is turned attentively towards the   
teacher listening as if the periodic table were the one thing that will save  
her. And I can only see the small sliver hoop earrings glittering in the   
light from the overhead projector.  
  
I can hardly breathe while witnessing the whispy tendrils of her hair   
flitting over her ear.  
  
How I want to be her hair, just to be that near to her, to be able to touch   
her, and have her touch me in return, almost without thinking.  
  
I am shocked back from this slow motion, this other universe where she and   
I are the only ones in the room, by a calling of my name from the teacher   
who is wondering if I can share with the class the electron configuration   
of silver.  
  
I cannot answer because I am thinking, why do I need sliver when I can look   
at her?  
  
Part Two: Periwinkle Blue  
It is her hands which hold me now, for I am unable, it seems, to look away   
from her slender fingers gently, but purposely pressing down each computer   
key to type up an essay.  
  
Her fingernails are painted periwinkle blue and she wears a ring of pewter   
vines around the pinkie finger of her right hand.  
  
She turns the page in her notebook, taking care not to let it rip, and   
smooth it down, her palms pressing down the paper and her fingertips   
straightening out the folds.  
  
I absentmindedly run my own fingers across the keyboard wishing my hands   
were as elegant, as royal as hers.  
  
But I am feeling lost as the bell rings, and I am forced to tear my gaze   
away.  
  
Part Three: The Subtle Shade of Pink  
I read somewhere that feet were supposedly the least attractive thing about   
a person's body. I disagree. At this moment, when I am carefully removing   
the flip-flops off her feet, so as not to disturb her sleeping form, I could   
prove nothing else more wrong. The lavender shoes fall to the hard wood   
floor with a muted clop that I hardly notice- I am too taken in by the   
slenderness, the countours, and the subtle shade of pink with which she has   
painted her toe nails. I am mesmerized by the delicacy with which her foot   
becomes ankle, becomes calf, all unbelievably soft skin I notice as I dare   
to blush a fingertip across her big toe.  
  
She turns over in her shallow slumber and I am beyond startled, as I fall   
back from kneeling next to her bed, to an immediately uncomfortable position   
on the floor.  
  
Worried I'll be caught staring at her feet of all things, I scramble to my   
feet and try not to be heard as I back away from her bed and slip to of the   
door.  
  
Part Four: It is Like the Sky  
I am tired of having to avoid her eyes, so this time I don't. It seems so   
simple just to look an fall into the depths, the pools, the sky. And when   
I do finally look right into her eyes, I realize it is like the sky, her   
eyes, the milky white separated by a line of the purest blue I have ever   
seen, fading slowly into the black center.  
  
That black center seems to pull me in, to it's cavernous depths.  
  
I must have been staring too long, because she looks away, and I feel as   
thought I could fall. Just when I thought I would be lost, she turned back   
to me and smiled.  
  
And I think I floated.  
  
Part Five: Rosy  
She doesn't know what she does to me, lying there, almost within my reach.   
She is stretched out on a lawn chair, tanning, wearing only a red bikini set   
with tiny purple flowers scattered across it.  
  
I look at her, and try not to make it obvious that I want to run my hands   
across her stomach, just to prove the theory that her skin is as soft as I   
imagine it, that it feels like the freshly bloomed petal of a rose.  
  
As the sun begins to turn her skin rosy, I feel as though I shouldn't watch  
any more, or I would do something I would regret, like go over to her,   
stand in her sun, and tell her I've been staring at her for two months now,   
and I think this rosy feeling I'm getting has more to do with her than she   
knows.  
  
Part Six: A Light Brown Dusting  
I had never seen her without makeup on before now. And I realized with a   
smile that she has freckles, a light brown dusting of them, sprinkled across  
her nose and cheeks.  
  
When she saw me watching her remove the thin base, she blushed, but not as   
much as when she'd seen me watching before. I think she has come to accept   
my staring, seeing as I couldn't seem to stop.  
  
If I didn't keep my eyes on her always, I might miss something, and then   
that light brown dusting of her in my life might disappear before I had a   
chance to truly see it.  
  
And that would be a shame.  
  
Part Seven: Prism  
I can see the whole of her now, and the radiating beauty I see nearly blinds  
me. She is a prism of colors, and emotions, and feelings, and she's not   
just a reflection.  
  
She causes these colors, and emotions, and feelings to bloom in others, like  
a prism separating ordinary light off into a rainbow, revealing purity and   
shades we've never seen.  
  
The End  
  



End file.
